


Horns n' S'mores

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Casual Crossover, Established Relationship, Gen, Legal Jargon, S'mores, do not take this seriously, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 20:10:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12395334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: Mick takes the fall on a job in New York City. Luckily, Len knows a helluva good lawyer.





	Horns n' S'mores

"I'm thinkin' New York," Snart said. "Small job," he said. "In and out," he said.

"Let's make this quick," the police officer says.

Mick eyes the file in her hands (which should definitely be bigger, what the hell), and grins as manically as he can. "You're right. Hand me some matches and this'll be over before you know it."

Officer Bailey merely raises an eyebrow. New Yorkers are pretty used to supervillain threats. "Where's your partner?"

"If you're talkin' about last weekend, she took her money and left."

Bailey sighs and sits down. " _Leonard Snart_ , Mr. Rory. Or  _Captain Cold_ ," she adds in that long-suffering tone that most city-dwellers have over anything super. "This city might not've seen you two in a while, but you still have quite the rap sheet."

Oh, that's why the file's so small. Mick's forgotten just how often he and Len haven't got caught in New York. Until now, anyway, 'cause Snart has an art boner the size of Brooklyn Bridge. All his lecturing and the bastard throws his own plan off the rails at an unexpected impressionist painting.

Thinking about it puts real bitterness in Mick's voice when he replies, "Haven't seen 'im. You got coffee around here?"

"Just ran out," Bailey says, sipping from her fresh cup.

"Uh-huh."

The officer sighs. "Listen―"

The door bursts open.

"Michael Rory?" says a dude in awesome red glasses, "Stop talking."

Mick replies out of spite, "Who're you?"

"My name is Matthew Murdock. I'm your attorney."

Baffled, Bailey splutters, "This man is a known criminal―a  _supervillain_ ―"

"Nevertheless, he is entitled to counsel," Murdock says, quick and steady. "Give us the room, please."

Bailey looks between his expectant face and Mick's smirk, turning a funny shade of red. But she knows there's no avoiding it, and pretty soon she's out.

Murdock puts his cane in the corner and takes the empty seat.

Mick sees it and says, "You're blind."

Murdock flashes him a sharp smile. "I hadn't noticed. Donut?"

Apparently his suit pockets're bigger than they look, 'cause Murdock whips out a huge cream-filled wonder slathered in orange frosting that's as big as his hand. Mick takes one look at the bakery symbol and looks at Murdock with new eyes.

As if sensing his gaze, Murdock says, "The staff ensured it was extra hot."

Aw,  _Lenny_.

"They found me in the exhibit," Mick says, unwrapping his impromptu 'sorry-I-got-you-caught-again' present. They're rare enough to warrant a slow appreciation. "With my heat gun."

There's nothing out of place with Murdock's teeth, but somehow the guy manages to look like a predator in the bushes. "Yet street cams caught you yesterday evening stopping attempted rape."

Mick's eyes narrow. "Yeah, I get touchy about it. What's that gotta do with anything?"

"The museum your partner hit also has connections with a man who is rumored to have―unsavory affiliations, drug and gun trades being just two concerns. I'm a Catholic, Mr. Rory. I have a thing with redemption. And while you were found on the scene, your fingerprints were nowhere to be found on any of the evidence, and the security cameras―which have no signs of tampering―showed nothing."

The plan involved working the blind spots. Snart likes to challenge himself sometimes 'cause he's a brilliant idiot. Fun, though.

"You and Mr. Snart have had many―explosive arguments," Murdock adds, "For all we know, you were set up."

"Still implicates me."

Murdock tilts his head. "Unless you were trying to contact Snart and happened to stumble on the scene. Wrong place, wrong time."

"...there's no way you can swing that."

Murdock's lip quirks. "I've been called a helluva good lawyer, Mr. Rory."

Mick can  _sense_ the pun. Snart's ingrained it into his system.

He gives Murdock another once-over: unsuspecting blind guy, fingers flowing easily over the Braille case file. There's something permanently wry in his face, even if his glasses block his eyes. Despite his suit's good condition, Mick knows what an expensive tailor looks like. Nothing close to corporate, yet not so shady as to come across sleazy or money-hungry. Kinda the opposite, actually.

There's still that―whatever it is about him, though, but Mick figures it helps if he takes cases like these. And if Snart sent him, he's gotta have some skill. 

"Alright, Murdock," Mick says, "I'll tell yah what happened."

* * *

Despite Murdock's confidence, Mick hadn't counted on actually getting out in less than two hours. Standing outside the precinct, he's still not sure what happened.

Len's waiting for him just around the corner. He smirks like usual, but Mick sees a subtle tension ease from his eyes. The sap.

"Murdock," he drawls, "much obliged."

Murdock smiles genially, despite his tight grip on his cane. "Of course. Give Lisa my best."

"Will do."

Mick's got a good eye, but in five seconds flat, the lawyer's gone, cane and all.

"How does he know Lisa?" he asks.

Len looks at the crowd like he can still see Murdock. "Remember when she took classes at Columbia? He was pre-law there."

"Didn't smell dirty, though."

Len snorts. "He ain't. If there's any stain on 'im, it's the Catholic guilt." He jerks his head to the crosswalk. Mick follows him.

Once they hit Hell's Kitchen, Mick asks, "How many you keepin'?"

"Just the one." Mick's eyebrows snap up. Len wrinkles his nose. "Part of the deal."

"Deal?" Mick grinds his teeth. "Snart, what didn't you tell me?"

Len shrugs. "Might not've chosen NYC on whimsy."

Why. The fuck. Did he fall for a cryptic bitch.

"Snart," Mick snarls.

"Relax, Mick, it was just a favor. Lisa's the one who asked, if that's what you're worried about."

"And you didn't tell me because...?" Mick can't wait to hear this one.

Len holds up a cup. "Coffee?"

" _Leonard_."

"I told you, relax. Everything's straightened out."

"Nothin' with you is straight."

Len seems pleased he noticed. "That's true. You want Thai?"

Mick resigns himself to figuring it out on his own.

* * *

Apparently the second part of this deal involves burning a warehouse down. Mick's not complaining.

"Lisa's itinerary," Len says, "She figured you could use a little unwinding."

"If anybody's got a stick up his ass, it's you," Mick replies. Len takes that to mean he should thank Lisa for him.

Mick torches the warehouse (he does  _not frolic_ , Len, where did you even get that idea). It's a grand ol' time. It gets better when Len pulls out a thing 'a marshmallows and sticks from his parka, reminding him that they're technically "on vacation," so they might as well make the most of it. Mick can't argue with that.

Around the peak of the fire, a voice drawls, "And here I was going to toss the contraband at the police."

And who does Mick see but fucking Daredevil.

"Nice ears," he says.

Mick can't see his eyes, but he's pretty sure Daredevil's glowering at him. "They're horns." Did he have this conversation before?

"Seems we can't go anywhere without getting an assful 'a red spandex, Mick," Len says.

"Why are you still here?" Daredevil demands.

"This place was a headquarters for an asshole," Len says, "Thought we'd do you a favor."

Favo―no  _fucking_ way.

Wait. If Lisa's the one who asked for the favor...Lisa. She's the center here.

Mick carefully waves his hand.

"What are you doing?" Daredevil asks, but other than that, he doesn't react.

"You gotta be kidding me," Mick says, because  _red shades_. "Murdock?!"

Len preens beside him. "Don't look at me," he says to the apparently-blind-superhero, "I didn't say anything."

That's a lie. Len had fed him hints. Mick just hadn't put it together until now.

Daredevil―Murdock― _whatever_ huffs. "I see what you're saying."

Mick snorts. He nudges Len. "Is this why you didn't tell me?"

Len rotates his marshmallow. "Thought it'd be a nice surprise. We should expand our super-circle anyway. We're already world-class criminals. Why not be world-class  _supervillains_ too?"

What a dork.

Mick shrugs. "You wanna s'more?"

He gets the impression Murdock's raising an eyebrow at him. "I have work to do."

"New corrupt fucker just got his main stash burnt down," Len goads, "and I gotta feeling you don't unwind much either."

"I'll stick to punching people."

Mick nods. "That's fair. Still grade-A flames though."

"Forgive me if I don't want to spend a night roasting marshmallows with criminals."

"Yet you sprung one."

Murdock waves dismissively. "Lisa texted me about your job. I did that for a friend."

"How do you read texts?" Mick asks.

"Got an accessible phone. When are you leaving?"

Len smirks. "We'll leave tomorrow if I can take a photo of Daredevil munchin' on a s'more."

"For the Christmas cards," Mick adds.

"Very funny," Murdock says flatly.

"Hey, you're Catholic," Len says, "It's not  _completely_ ironic."

"You're not taking that photo, Snart."

"But with this fire, your enemies just suffered a major setback. And you said so yourself, we've been  _helpful_. That favor was for Lisa, not me, or Mick. But  _this_..."

" _No_ , Cold."

* * *

"Lenny," Lisa says gravely, "I need this framed."

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not really shippy but oh well. Might write more of this, maybe. I dunno.


End file.
